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Her voice trembles. “How are you here?”

“I would like to know that as well,” an icy voice cuts in.

My gaze snaps toward it, finding another woman with white hair braided close, posture like a drawn blade, and glacier-blue eyes pinning me where I stand. Lady Cynna. One of my competitors in the trials, and one of the few survivors.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “What brings the princess of the Sorrows to the North?”

Chapter 25

Aella

Silence descends over the room, and the temperature plummets.

Frost forms beneath Cynna’s feet, creeping like veins of silver lightning along the floor—delicate, glittering, and unmistakably unnatural.

“Aella. Would you give us a moment?” Lyxander says.

A strange sensation creeps up my spine, searing like I’ve tumbled into a thicket of nettles. I try to speak, but my voice falters.

I want to refuse. I want to stay, to argue, to demand answers or offer my own. Anything. I want to fight against the storm of emotions rising within me, to turn back time and speak my truth sooner. But shame coils tight around me, choking off my resolve, and something worse creeps in beneath it—the terrible, ugly relief of not having to face this right now, of postponing the confrontation I’m sure will be coming.

My legs carry me before my thoughts can catch up, and the motion feels like surrender. Worse still, I don’t move far. My feet falter on the first-floor landing of the stairwell, my body refusing to commit fully to the flight even as my mind screams for distance.

I press myself against the stone and attempt to steady my breathing.

I know what I’m about to do is wrong. But I need to hear what they say.

The role of spy fits too easily, sliding over my shoulders like a familiar cloak. Turning away from that instinct is impossible, like trying to unlearn the rhythm of my own heartbeat.

When my breaths are finally slow and measured, I call on my theïkós. It hums eagerly beneath the surface, and the air itself leans in closer, eager to carry sound to my waiting ears. It’s something I’ve been practicing on my own outside Lyxander’s lessons—a skill that would have been incredibly useful if I were still a Songbird of the Aviary.

Their voices drift toward me, carried on a languid, whispering current of air.

“—but she already knows you’re here,” Silas warns. “And if you want any control over this, I’d suggest going to her before she comes to you.”

Who is she? The queen they spoke of?

A chair scrapes against stone. The jarring sound cuts through the air, and I flinch.

“You shouldn’t have brought her here, Lyxander.” Cynna’s voice is cold and unforgiving. “What were you thinking?”

“She’s one of us,” Lyxander says.

“Oh, I know. I knew the second I saw her in Eretria,” Cynna says. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

My chest tightens painfully as her words sink in. I press myself harder against the stone wall, willing myself to stay focused on the conversation.

“She saved my life, and we made a bargain.”

“He actually abduct—”

“Kato!” Lyxander and Cynna snap, their voices overlapping.

Someone laughs humorlessly, and someone else curses under their breath.

“Maybe we should all take a moment to calm down,” Rhaya suggests.

“I don’t think you realize how dire this is.” Another voice. Silas.